Thanks for all the kind and encouraging reviews! (Feels weird that I'm the one saying this;-p)

Again, many thanks to Shywriter for betaing, de-germanization and all the highly appreciated suggestions.

And the last thanks to Reilynn for showing me the continuity glitch in the last chapter, i. e. Max only learning of Case's existence in "Hit a Sister back". Completely missed that;-p

Logan's penthouse, 11:10 PM:

Logan still sat in exactly the same spot in front of the windows where Max had left him some hours before.

After he'd broken up that desperately needed embrace, she had been at a loss about how to deal with him. Comforting someone who had tried to end his life only mere moments before was completely beyond her training and experience. So, as he'd wheeled away from her, magically drawn by the wide front window, the only thing she came up with was the lame question if, maybe, there was a chance for one of his Cale Culinary miracles. She had thought of the peace of mind he always seemed to draw from cooking, wishing this could just be another of their many comfortable evenings over one of his famous meals.

But the inadequacy of her suggestion had made Max want to bite her tongue the moment the words were out of her mouth. Logan on his part had only mumbled a disinterested "another time" that had left her staring helplessly at his subdued figure, his light grey pullover and spiky hair contrasting with the slowly darkening afternoon sky. Finally, after a few more minutes of standing around and feeling very much like a superfluous piece of furniture she had left, silently, with the overwhelming sensation that she was failing him, but no idea what else to do either – and in a serious need to clear her head.

Now, back in the quiet penthouse, she walked straight up to him, not giving her doubts about doing the right thing any chance to pipe up again, only stopping a few feet behind him.

Keep a safe distance.

Surely he must have heard her deliberately loud steps, yet he didn't turn or show any other reaction to acknowledge her presence. Just kept showing her his back, shoulders hunched down.

So, with a deliberate intake of air, and gathering everything she could muster of trust in herself and in him – of trust in them – Max spoke, intent on touching Logan's most tender spots. "I haven't answered your question"

But not even the sound of her voice stirred him out of his haze of anger, despair and disappointment, and Max began to wonder if her voice had got through to him at all. She was about to repeat her words, when finally his reply came, voice utterly disinterested, dull, as if the simple act of speaking alone was to much. "Which question?"

Max swallowed, trying not to be affected by his rude behavior. Half a year ago his attitude would have sent her right out of the door without so much as a second thought. But – whether she liked it or not – Logan's deep, unrelenting concern for those around him had left an imprint on her. And so she stayed, preceding with her plan. "The one from yesterday evening." She succeeded in keeping her calm tone, despite the sensitiveness of the topic to come. "The question about whether it's easier for me if you're in the chair."

His accusation had nagged at her ever since. Does he really think I'm that shallow? Somehow it felt good to have it out in the open – although that meant she actually had to give him an honest answer now.

But no, he blocked it off, replying in the same hollow, emotionless voice as before. "You don't have to answer it." Still not acknowledging her presence, Logan's gaze focused onto some undefined point of the spotless window glass.

"What if I want an answer?" Max countered and – though slowly but steadily she was getting annoyed with being the object of his avoidance – her tone didn't waver from the quiet, patient tone she considered the right one for someone in such a precarious state as his. Making me talk to his back. Who does he think he is? But, right now, her worry still was stronger. True, he hadn't shot himself, wasn't dead, but this lethargic non-responsiveness wasn't like the Logan she knew, either. She wanted him back with all his lovingly complex, contradictory facets: the wonderful caring Logan, who cooked for for her and kept an extra bottle of tryptophan; the vulnerable, lonely man behind the mask that hardly ever was visible – hell, even the obsessed, driven 'saving the world' Logan, who drove her mad with his neglect of anything but Eyes Only. Anything but this detached passivity.

So, with her first plan failing, Max searched her mind frantically for something – anything – to say that would get Logan out of this self-destructive apathy. A moment passed, the heavy silence becoming more depressing with each fading second. Then, almost like on auto-drive, some reckless part of her decided to bring up the topic that had bothered her ever since the shooting, but which she never had the guts to approach. "You need to answer me a question first, though."

That got a reaction. Logan spun around with such a startling, unexpected vehemence Max had to hold onto herself not to step back. He was clearly angry with her insistence, his face holding nothing of the warm, pleased smile with which he usually welcomed her. Not letting her any chance to act on this sudden change of demeanor, Logan spoke, lashing out at her with biting, cold ferocity. "Yes, Max, I was going to put a bullet through my brain. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied now?"

Angry now herself, Max shot back, her voice icy. "Thank you, Logan, for being kind enough to inform me about this minor little detail of your …life." The word lingered in the air for an instant, another reminder of how – almost – the day had ended. "But that I knew already. Doctor Vertes' files made sure of it. Not to mention this nice specimen of a Vector decorating your desk, when I came in."

They stared at each other, defiant, irritated – hurt… and with an exasperated inward sigh Max wondered exactly why their arguments always escalated like that.

Not like it's my fault. But still...

"I'm sorry." Their apologies came out almost simultaneously, breaking their intense eye contact. Logan's gaze drifted away from her again, slipping back into that frightening, gloomy aloofness. Watching him in so uncharacteristic defeat Max felt the urge to take Logan by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. If only it was that easy… Another sigh, this timeclearlyaudible in the eerie silence created by the absence of the usually ever-present hum of his computers. Max knew very well he'd rather be alone at the moment, but wasn't willing to succumb once more to his wordless way of shoving her out of the apartment – when she would spend her time worrying about him anyway.

And somehow he must have sensed her determination, something in her posture telling him she wouldn't leave before she got at least some explanation. There was a weary look and a sigh, before, eventually, he capitulated, if only to get rid of her afterward. "What was it, then, you wanted to ask?"

Here it comes, Max.

"I…I'd like to know why…" She stopped, then started anew, forcing herself to get out the deciding words before her more sensible side had a chance to kick in. "…why you stopped trying to romance me, flirting like a madman…?"

Now she had his full attention as he gaped at her blankly, the pain over his failing legs momentarily forgotten with her unexpected query.

Taking a deep breath that was meant to steady her suddenly very unreliable voice, Max continued, gaze flickering nervously between the floor and Logan's distractingly beautiful face. "When we first meet I felt this strong… thing going on between us. Won't say it wasn't from my side too – I was attracted, fascinated by you, no question. But at the same time… I was scared like hell that somebody found out my secret." Her voice became distant, reflective as she remembered those highly confusing days after she had dropped in through his skylight. "Logan, you were the first person out of Manticore ever to know who I really was and it frightened me enough to be close to packing my things and leaving Seattle… But you…"

Max paused, throwing him a scrutinizing look and, seeing that he still was completely dazed by the turn of their conversation, continued. "You were so set on discovering who I really was. It was almost an obsession. Using your hacking abilities to find out that I worked at Jam Pony. Going there to bribe Normal…", she had started to use her fingers to count down all the effort he'd made to see her again, "stalking me at Crash, breaking into my flat and leaving me Bast. Stealing my one and only bottle of tryptophan, the chemical I depend on to survive."

Her tone had sharpened considerably, hurt and accusation tinting her words. But at least, as she noted with a great deal of relief, they had had an effect, had gotten through to him. With a cringe, Logan's stony, mask-like expression had dissolved and, though his eyes were avoiding hers, Max thought she could make out something like shame and embarrassment on his face.

Not giving him any chance to interrupt, Max carried on, finding it an oddly freeing experience not to dance around things for once. "So, Logan, what was all this effort for? Was it freaky curiosity at seeing a real chimera? Or was it all about making me play bodyguard for Lauren and Sophy? Was I only a means for your glorious attempts at making the world a little better? Tell me Logan, what was it?" She spat out the last, every word oozing with bitter sarcasm.

He still hadn't moved, just sat there, mouth slightly open, yet unable speak, overwhelmed by her outburst. Shocked by the sudden impact of the very subject, that – though ever-present beneath the surface – normally was left unsaid between them.

"The only things you are obsessed with nowadays are saving the world and walking." The accusation came out with sharp anger, which, by now, she didn't bother to keep out of her voice. It was a much safer emotion than the harsh disappointment she felt after those last days with him, when he first got her hopes up, again treating her like the most desirable woman on earth – only to let her down the very moment his legs started to fail.

What did I do wrong, Logan? What made you think I'd feel any different just because you're back in the chair?

The object of her ire still was dumbstruck, though by now, the formerly stupefied expression had been replaced by one of clear uneasiness. Max waited for another instant, gaze steely, guarded to see if maybe he had the grace to answer. No reply forthcoming, her hands were clenched into fists as she tried to reign in the anger and hurt at his lack of respond to her emotional outburst. "Fine, Logan. I understand." She gave him a final, hard look before uttering what were meant to be her parting words. "Call if you need me for some legwork. Don't want it to be my fault if the world comes to an end."

Max turned, well aware of Logan's flinching at her deliberate use of their code word for Eyes Only jobs, but, at this very moment, not caring in the least.

Yeah, well. You hurt me, I hurt you. That's life. And face it, Logan, I could say much worse things to make up for what you tried to do today.

She rushed for the door, only wanting to get out, away from this place. Away from him. Completely engaged in a bitter, calm rage, Max wondered how in the world she could have missed all his subtle little signals that he didn't care, didn't want them to be "like that" – berated herself for being so naïve to assume that there could be something like love between the high and mighty cyber-journalist and the genetically enhanced killing machine. And with a sudden, aching pang she realized that the only way not to let Logan hurt her any further was staying away from him altogether.

She was just about to reach for the door handle when his voice stopped her.

"Max…" A sigh. "You're right."

….To be continued…